THE LAST SON OF JACOB

There was a click of an old camera, a blink of an eye, and a man's smile. Then more clicks followed, and more and more until it was like the white canvas being lowered. Amid these clicks, a young boy recalled the strokes of a belt, a whip, and a gun.

* * *

A man panted heavily, amidst soft grunts of blissful ecstasy. He held a picture in one hand and the other was busy . . . well wanking himself. He put the picture down and held the desk tighter, his movements faster. He felt an exciting feeling on his stomach and clenched his muscles to hold onto the feeling a little longer.

"Kitsune, Kitsune, Kitsune," he kept saying, and then he felt relieved as he sat back in his chair.

He took the picture of Kitsune Lustfully, who was sleeping unknowingly. He then leaned back on the chair and relaxed, his mind wandering away. Then a knock came on his door.

"Mr Yatagawa, you 8.00 pm is here," said a voice behind the door.

"I'll meet him in the conference room shortly," he replied pulling up his pants.

He straightened his shirt, put on his coat, zipped his pants, and lit the room. He threw the tissue he had in a bin and then walked out of the office.

"Shinsuke," a feminine voice immediately called behind him.

He turned to his mother. She was in her late forties, her face aged and saggy. It might be the reason she wore extensive makeup to mask it. She noted his collar was out of place adjusted it and smiled at him.

"Your father wishes to speak to you shortly,"

"I will join him soon, I have a meeting right now."

"Please do make it quick, he seems to be in a bad mood right now,"

"I shall," he said then rushed off to his 8.00 pm.

The meeting took an hour, his mind though preoccupied he was able to close it successfully. As he walked to his father's office, he recalled the belt that hit his flesh on occasion. He recalled the blisters he had to hide, the throbbing pain on his skin that followed for the rest of the week. But before the pain, he recalled the pleasure.

He knocked and pushed the door open. The thick wooden door made it impossible to hear the occasional come-in that their father had insisted he had said. So, he often knocked, pushed the door slightly, and spoke.

"You wished to speak to me?"

"Shin, come in," said his father.

His father was in his forties too, but he seemed to be in the best build of his life. He was bigger than Shinsuke and slightly more built. A bit of grey hair, a mustache, and tiny eyes. Mr. Yatagawa went to the cabinet taking out a glass, he poured a bottle of 35-year-old scotch on two glasses and handed one to his son.

"Son, we need to talk," he said ushering him to sit on a couch.

He sat opposite him and looked at him firmly. Shinsuke often felt intimidated by him, but not as much as he was a boy.

"You're my son," he began, "Over the years, I admit that I have been harsh on you on a particular topic, but I grew to respect you in my way."

He sipped the scotch and leaned back. Shinsuke did the same. He needed to show his father he was no longer that little boy. His father acknowledged him with a smile.

"But, if there is one thing, I don't like an outsider budging into the family matters. So, I ask again, are you certain with what you saw?"

"Father, are you saying that I fabricated a story because you showed more love to a boy you met than your son?" he asked sarcastically.

Mr Yatagawa laughed hysterically leaving his son puzzled. Then, he rose and took a set of keys from his desk. Shinsuke watched him, his mind drifting into a memory. He recalled the last time his father had taken the keys, he could almost predict the next words.

"Son, we are going to the boat tonight."

Shinsuke drank the last sip of the scotch and stood up.

"Let me get the life jackets and the gloves."

Not long after, the two were in the middle of the ocean. The night was moonless, no boats around then, nothing in the distance. Shinsuke recalled the feeling he was having, the only difference was the last time they were there it was in the daytime. Mr Yatagawa stopped the boat anchoring it.

"So son, here we are yet again," said Mr Yatagawa, "I recall the last time we were here, I was in so much pain back then, but I had no regrets whatsoever."

He then turned to his son who had been listening to him the whole time.

"Go, son, bring him up to the deck,"

Disappearing down the deck, he came back dragging a tied-up man. The man's muffled noises could be heard behind a layer of duct tape. He dropped him on the deck and walked to the side of the boat leaning onto a bar. Mr Yatagawa approached the man and pulled the duct tape from his mouth.

"Mr Yatagawa, why are you doing this?" asked the young man almost out of breath.

"Because my boy Hiroshi, you did something unforgivable, you seduced my daughter, my pride and joy, my Kitsune. As a father, I cannot forgive that."

* * * 

"Father, am afraid, it's your turn tonight, I did it last time," said Shinsuke.

"Right, you are son," said Mr Yatagawa.

Hiroshi looked at the two men. A feeling of trepidation overwhelmed him, for some reason he knew . . . he knew screaming would not help, he knew no miracle would happen and he knew he would die. He only had one question.

"Why? Why go this far?" asked Hiroshi, his voice shaky and low

"Hiro my boy, let me tell you a story," said Mr Yatagawa as he sat on the rim of the boat.

Beside him was a bottle of scotch and a glass. He poured the scotch on the glass as he talked.

"I love my daughter so very much. As a father, I want nothing but the best for her, and so it pains me that the older she gets the more the world looks into her direction. The world that attracts dirty and indecent men. Men who hold filthy desires about her. I can't stand such men."

He took a sip of the scotch and looked at the glass. He smiled slightly then turned to Hiroshi once again.

"I recall one man in particular, he tried to take her from me when she was just a baby. He tried to run away with my woman, Kitsune's mother. It pained me, as we had to push them off this very boat."

At that moment, Shinsuke recalled Kitsune's mother, begging for her life. He recalled the bubbles in the ocean fading, then she was gone. The ocean had taken her.

"But what pained me the most was," Mr Yatagawa continued, "letting my daughter grow up knowing that her mother had died giving birth to her."

Hiroshi looked at Mr Yatagawa, his eyes full of shock. He then turned to Shinsuke who had long stood in silence, his face not showing even the slightest of emotions.

"You understand son, don't you?" asked Mr Yatagawa looking into Hiroshi's eyes.

Hiroshi looked to the dark sea. There was silence except for the water and the wind. There was darkness, except for the light of their boat. This was a private area, owned by Mr Yatagawa. He found himself wondering just how many bodies were under him.

He then laughed hysterically. Shaking the boat mildly drawing the two men's attention. They looked with surprised written faces.

"Are you by any chance going mad?" asked Shinsuke annoyed by the reaction.

"I see now," said Hiroshi amidst the laugh, as he calmed down, "I see it now."

"What do you see?" asked Mr Yatagawa.

"You say you abhor the many dirty men who would try to approach your daughter, yet you are the dirtiest of them all,"

Mr Yatagawa's face twisted with rage.

"You and your son are disgusting. Perverts. How is it that you can have sexual fantasies about your daughter, disgusting indeed. Your wife could not satisfy you enough, or is it that you find younger girls more attractive?"

"Shut your mouth you insolent child, shut up or . . ." Mr Yatagawa rose in rage knocking over the bottle of scotch.

". . . Or you're going to kill me? Let me ask you one thing then before I die. Mr Yatagawa, do you hate yourself?"

* * * 

The ride back to shore was silent. Shinsuke was thoughtful as he steered the boat. He looked at his father who was still sitting outside. He wondered what the man was thinking. At that moment, his mind drifted to another memory.

He recalled walking in the photo studio once. His father taking pictures of Kitsune in her swimsuit. Sure it was for remembering the holidays, but, his father's face said otherwise. There was a lustful grin on his face as he looked at the pictures.

Shinsuke knew. He knew how the old man felt, Kitsune was charming. He recalled another memory when his father beat him with a belt for stealing one of Kitsune's pictures from his room, and another memory where he was beaten with a whip when he was caught masturbating with Kitsune's photos by his father.

His father never beat him when he lost twenty million US dollars, or when the sports car he had bought burnt down just three days later, or when he had failed to close a deal with an Arabian prince. He was only beaten when Kitsune's name wrongly left his tongue.

Shinsuke smiled, and thought, he and his father were two men at the mercy of love.